


Somnolent Mouth

by boughofawillowtree



Series: Ether Garden [1]
Category: Descent Into Perdition - Fandom, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Dark!Aziraphale, Descent Into Perdition, Epilogue, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Gabriel Has a Penis (Good Omens), Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Protective Crowley, Rape Recovery, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29944293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boughofawillowtree/pseuds/boughofawillowtree
Summary: After the events of Ether Garden, Crowley and Gabriel have found safety - but Gabriel still struggles to express himself, especially when it comes to sexuality. Crowley does his best to help.
Relationships: Crowley/Gabriel, Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: Ether Garden [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2202243
Comments: 28
Kudos: 29
Collections: Descent Into Perdition and DiP-verse Works





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamsofspike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Descent Into Perdition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23887096) by [dreamsofspike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike). 



> This was inspired by chatter over in the darkfic server, where folks wanted to see some softer, recovery-oriented C/G stuff based on DiP and EG. This is an epilogue to Ether Garden, but I'm posting it as its own work so I can continue fucking around with Ether Garden and so anyone who wants this softer content without the graphic whump that precedes it can just click over to here.
> 
> Both _Ether Garden_ and _Somnolent Mouth_ are set in the world of Descent into Perdition by dreamsofspike, but are non-canon/canon-divergent.
> 
> I don't know how many chapters this will end up being; I'm just having fun noodling around in this world. Comments & requests fuel me; lmk what you like & what else you want to see. I live to serve.

They moved to Iceland, of all places. It seemed remote enough, different enough from the bustling streets of London, and so Crowley found them a cottage overlooking a seaside cliff, and together they moved to Iceland.

Crowley didn’t keep any food in the house, instead hiking down the mountain to a small cafe whenever he wanted to indulge in coffee. They had their separate bedrooms, though it was common for Crowley to help Gabriel fall asleep by stroking his hair for a while at night.

Gabriel learned to knit, finding that he felt more comfortable wearing and even enjoying clothing that he’d made himself. Some of the local sheep farmers dyed him some unique shades of purple, everything from periwinkle to amethyst to deep violet, and he loved the feeling of the soft wool between his fingers as he knitted.

Mistakes made when knitting could be quietly unraveled, he learned, and each knot and stitch was an opportunity to make something new. The patterns weren’t full of words that swam together on the page, only neat, tidy little boxes that guided him along, that patiently let him check and re-check every time his mind wandered. 

So he made sweaters, for himself and for Crowley, and for the fishermen and sheep farmers who lived nearby. Thin ones for summer, thick and heavily-cabled ones for the cold winters. 

Gabriel liked the seasons in Iceland. The harsh weather pulled him out of his mind, forced him to register the sensations of his own skin, to tend to the needs of his corporation. When it was cold, Crowley lit a fire in the fireplace, and it didn’t smell anything like brimstone, just crackling wood and a warmth that enveloped the cottage.

Best of all, after they’d moved to their cottage, Crowley gave him a tape recorder.

“It’s not really a tape recorder,” Crowley had explained, handing Gabriel the little metal thing. “They don’t use tape anymore, they just record your voice as data - but, you know what, it’s just easier to call it a tape recorder.”

Gabriel had nodded. He didn’t know what a tape was, or data, but he knew Crowley was trying to help. It had been hard for him to talk, having been terrified of his own voice for so long, and Crowley seemed to think he’d feel better if he found another way to express himself.

They’d tried having Gabriel write things down, first in a journal and then on a device with buttons for the alphabet, but Gabriel got frustrated with it easily. He was a messenger, not a writer; God had gifted him with speech, not the ability to put his thoughts down in writing.

_ You’ve only ever been good for one thing, _ Gabriel thought,  _ and even that skill, you abused until others saw fit to take it away from you. _

So writing hadn’t worked. But the tape recorder quickly became one of Gabriel’s favorite things. He could say anything to it, and then delete his own recording if he wanted. Or he could say anything to Crowley by making a recording and leaving the device in Crowley’s room for the demon to listen to.

That way, if anything Gabriel said made Crowley annoyed or angry, he’d be safe from any reaction. And if Crowley didn’t want to listen to Gabriel, he could turn off the recording.

Not that Crowley had ever lashed out at Gabriel, or punished him for saying anything. Still, the recorder made Gabriel feel safer, and slowly he began to talk to it about all sorts of things. What he remembered from Heaven. How he felt about Iceland. A sweater pattern he was excited to try. 

Even, sometimes, he talked about Aziraphale.

Whenever he left the recorder in Crowley’s room, he knew Crowley had listened to it because the demon would bring something up, give some gentle reply or suggestion, and the recorder would be back on Gabriel’s pillow the next day.

They’d been at the cottage for a while, though Gabriel wasn’t sure how long, exactly. He still wasn’t accustomed to the way time moved on earth, and he didn’t have a sense for how long it was supposed to take for someone to feel settled somewhere. 

Or how long certain types of relationships took.

He’d been thinking a lot about Crowley - specifically, about touching Crowley. About Crowley touching him. 

Aside from the bedtime ritual, where Crowley sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through Gabriel’s hair, they didn’t touch each other.

Not anymore, at least. Back at the bookshop, back when Aziraphale was in charge, they touched. Gabriel remembered those moments, full of shame and fear, but also something else, some intimacy, some closeness, that he missed.

But how could he be missing something so horrible? He wanted to leave that entire thing behind, to never again experience any of the things Aziraphale had forced on him.

He tried touching himself, and that was nice, but he still couldn’t stop thinking about Crowley.

Maybe there was a way for them to touch each other that wasn’t the awful thing Aziraphale had made them do. If there was, he was sure Crowley knew about it. He knew about all these things, had been the one to tell Gabriel about touching himself. 

So one day, when Gabriel was feeling especially brave, he put his recorder in his pocket and headed out to the cliffs.

For a while, he just sat, perched on his favorite flat rock, staring out at the sea. The ocean was something he didn’t understand, but he sort of liked it that way. Some days, it was gray and frothy, other days it was flat and blue. It moved up and down, changing with the weather, and yet, it was always the same, always the ocean.

Gabriel felt like that ocean. For a while, he had been a high ranking officer of Heaven, pompous and arrogant, and then he’d learned that all of that was wrong. Then, he’d been a broken creature, meek and abashed, and once again he’d had to learn that all of  _ that  _ was wrong. Now, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was, only that he was Gabriel, and that he had changed. 

Gabriel took out the recorder and held it close to his lips, beginning to talk. He talked about the first time Crowley had touched him, how he had thought about that moment over and over and over. He told the whole story of that first time, and then what came after, his private time in Heaven, the thoughts he conjured of Crowley’s lips, his hands, his voice.

He confessed that he liked something about it, even though he knew it was painful for Crowley, even though Aziraphale curdled it all with his presence. He wondered aloud if there was a way to excise the cruelty and the violation and leave behind only something nice, touches that brought pleasure without the accompanying sting of humiliation. 

When he was done talking, Gabriel was horrified to see that the recording was over fifty five minutes long. Almost an hour. Surely Crowley had no interest in hearing Gabriel ramble on, especially about such a sensitive topic, for so much time.

He considered deleting the recording and starting over, but the thought of repeating it all made Gabriel feel exhausted. It had been hard enough to say once, and he knew if he let himself delete the recording, he’d never say any of it again.

Feeling tired, and brave, and tired of being brave, Gabriel again pocketed the recorder, staring out at the sea for a while longer, following each new swelling wave with his eyes, until he headed back to the cottage and, with one final burst of courage, set the recorder in Crowley’s room.

***

Crowley’s heart leapt when he saw the little iPod sitting at the foot of his bed, and his happiness only increased when he picked it up and saw that Gabriel had left him nearly an hour long recording.

They’d lived together in this Icelandic cottage for two years now, and it pained Crowley that Gabriel still felt nervous speaking freely. Sure, he’d stopped wordlessly asking for permission with that awful signal Aziraphale had taught him, and he was good about answering questions and engaging in simple chatter. But when it came to long stretches of speech, or anything remotely serious, his anxiety was too great.

Crowley loved getting these recorded missives from the archangel, though, and was glad to have found something that let Gabriel express himself. Usually, the messages started out with that halting, agitated stammer that Gabriel had picked up during his time in captivity, but eventually he got comfortable enough and Crowley could hear the soaring notes of the Lord’s messenger. Gabriel’s clear, booming American accent would pick up strength, and his word choice became more elaborate, more self-assured. Crowley could easily see why Gabriel was known for his divinely bestowed ‘gift of gab,’ and why a certain less articulate angel may have been driven by jealousy and rage to try and stamp this unique skill out.

He couldn’t wait to hear what Gabriel had to say in this most recent recording. But he didn’t want to listen while Gabriel was around - he’d found that tended to defeat the point of the recorder - so he grabbed his earbuds and stuck the recorder in his pocket before leaving the bedroom.

Gabriel was sprawled out on the floor by the fire, flipping through the glossy pages of a catalog full of knitting patterns. Crowley hated to see Gabriel on the floor, still, but he seemed comfortable on the soft rug, so he fought back the urge to gently suggest a move to the sofa.

“I’m going to head down into town,” Crowley said as he tugged on his outerwear - a charcoal grey sweater with garnet red patterns, one of Gabriel’s recent masterpieces. “Do you need anything?”

“No, thank you,” came Gabriel’s quiet reply.

“Do you  _ want _ anything?” Crowley asked again as he wrapped a scarf around himself and pulled on a knit cap.

“No, thank you.”

“How about I go visit Abigael and see if he has any new patterns in for you?”

A pause, Gabriel gathering himself. Crowley was used to the rhythm by now, knew how to be patient and give the archangel time to speak. 

“Yes, please.”

“Excellent!” Crowley flashed a proud smile before heading out the door.

The pathway down from their cliffside cottage was rocky, dark with volcanic stone. Crowley tucked his hands into his pockets, keeping his chin down as he made his way toward the little town, looking forward to reaching Runar’s cafe so he could warm his insides with some hot black coffee.

Gabriel’s message, to Crowley’s great surprise and delight, was about a topic that had been carefully avoided for the entirety of their time in the cottage. For two years, though they lived together as close companions, there had been no physical intimacy between them aside from the bedtime ritual of Crowley stroking Gabriel’s hair.

It was clear enough that Gabriel’s trauma had left him disinterested in, and even fearful of, sexual contact. And that was fine with Crowley. He’d lived centuries worth of life on earth, had his fill of such pleasures, and he could take care of himself these days. Still, he wondered sometimes if Gabriel was missing something, or whether the archangel was carrying a weight of grief and shame that might be lightened by some more positive experiences. 

There was no manual for understanding how an eternal being might process such pain, and so Crowley was perfectly happy to leave the topic well alone and give Gabriel time enough to approach it on his own. And if he never did, that would be okay too. 

But here he was, his voice coming through Crowley’s earbuds, talking about what they had done together, to each other, and what had been done to them. The poor archangel was clearly confused about whether sexual connection was even possible to divorce from domination and abuse, and Crowley worried that perhaps he had made a mistake to avoid the subject altogether and let Gabriel’s only understanding of the issue remain as Aziraphale had left it.

It was clear enough, though, that Gabriel wanted to try again, wanted to explore the possibility of pleasure without pain, and that he wanted to explore it with Crowley. The demon had to adjust himself a few times as he walked, listening to his beloved archangel attempt to describe his own desires.

He wanted to rush right home and get started, make up for so much lost time, show Gabriel just how safe, and good, things could be when they were together. But he’d promised to pop in to the local knitting and notions store for patterns, and so he continued on into town. As it happened, Abigael was happy to see Crowley. Though her little shop had been without new shipments for weeks due to inclement weather along the coast, she had brought some vintage pattern books from home, hand-me-downs from her mother and sisters, just for Gabriel.

Crowley took them, grateful for the way the Icelandic town had welcomed the strange pair so warmly. Well, not exactly warmly. It was absolutely frigid here. Crowley hadn’t taken his snake form in months, and he longed for the simple joys of stretching out on a sun-warmed stone somewhere hot and dry. But Gabriel seemed happy here, running along the cliffside trails and meditating on the North Atlantic sea, knitting his sweaters and lying by the fire. 

Maybe in a few hundred years they could relocate somewhere more tropical. For now, Crowley was willing to rely on gloves and Runar’s coffee and a miraculously never-ending supply of firewood. 

When he got home, Gabriel was out for a run. Crowley only knew this because the archangel’s running shoes were missing from their usual spot by the door. Though it made the demon a bit anxious when he didn’t know where Gabriel was, it made the archangel even more skittish to be tracked in any way, and he liked going off where no one knew exactly where he was. Crowley reminded himself that Gabriel could handle himself, and that the cliffs around their cottage were well warded, besides. 

With Gabriel out of the house, Crowley could start getting ready to respond to the message Gabriel had shared. He thought it would be best if he encouraged Gabriel to masturbate on his own, with Crowley present, perhaps to touch himself in tandem, perhaps to provide extra sensation for the archangel. Crowley determined that he would keep his own pants on, sliding his hand inside them if need be, but letting Gabriel’s cock be the only one visible, to keep things less threatening.

As he prepared to welcome Gabriel home, a stray thought occurred to him: he could make some hot cocoa for him when he returned from his winter run.

No. That was an errant suggestion from his mind, drawn up by force of habit. A hot chocolate on a cold day was a gift for a different time, a different angel. One who was never coming in from the cold. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet, fluffy recovery smut.

Crowley was already home when Gabriel came in from his run. He’d stoked the fire - Gabriel still didn’t like messing around with the flame itself, or the metal pokers that got really hot - and was sitting beside it, in his leather chair.

“Abigael sent you some more patterns,” Crowley said, pointing to a stack of booklets on the coffee table, a big slab of black basalt with a matte, rough surface. There wasn’t much wood in the cottage, especially not when it came to things like desks or tables. “They’re not new, exactly, she said they belonged to her family, but they’ll be new to you, I supposed.”

“Oh.” Gabriel sat down next to the coffee table, reaching out for one of the books. “Thank you.” 

It didn’t feel right that Abigael had just given him something of hers. What if Gabriel messed them up? He took special care not to tear the delicate pages as he unfolded the black and white images of sweaters, socks, and winter caps. When he bought patterns in her store, he always paid for them. He wasn’t sure that he deserved to be given things like this for free. Didn’t humans need money? 

“I like that one,” Crowley said, pointing to a sweater with a cable pattern that looked like snakes. “Would look striking in emerald green, don’t you think?”

Gabriel nodded. He would make Crowley a green snake sweater. And he would make Abigael something too, something worthy of her gift.

“I listened to your message,” Crowley said then, and Gabriel looked up at him, scanning the demon’s face for any hint of disgust. But Crowley only looked happy, and a little bit nervous himself.

“I’m very glad you shared that with me,” Crowley continued, smiling. “I agree with you - a lot of that was nice, but after everything we’ve been through, it’s scary, too.”

Gabriel nodded. 

“If you want to, though, we can try again, take it slow, learn what we like -” Crowley cut himself off with a gentle laugh, seeing how rapidly Gabriel was nodding his head.

“Here’s what I was thinking,” Crowley said, leaning forward in his seat to get closer to Gabriel. The firelight made his amber eyes look like blazing gold, and Gabriel just wanted to stare at them forever. “We go lay down together, and you can touch yourself, just like you like when you’re alone, and I’ll be there too, and I can see what you like. Maybe I’ll touch myself, too. We can do it together.”

Gabriel felt his face fall. He hadn’t wanted to touch himself - he wanted Crowley to touch him. But it sounded like Crowley didn’t want to, which was fair. Maybe the demon was sick of touching angels. Maybe Gabriel reminded him too much of Aziraphale. Or maybe he just didn’t feel that way about Gabriel, especially after seeing, and hearing, so many of his failures.

“I want to be clear.” Crowley sounded a bit agitated, and Gabriel scolded himself for letting his face show his disappointment. “I do want to touch you that way - really, I do. Very badly.” Crowley slid one hand over the rough surface of the coffee table, offering it to Gabriel. 

Gabriel let their hands touch, wrapping his fingers around Crowley’s. 

“But I think we should take it slow. I want to make sure it’s always about pleasure for you.. If we try to do too much, it might get scary again.”

“I’m never scared of you,” Gabriel mumbled. “I like when you touch me.”

“I know. I know.” Crowley sounded oddly breathless, and Gabriel glanced around, worried that smoke from the fire might be bothering him. “How about this. You touch yourself there - your penis - and I’ll touch you other places. Just to start out. Okay?”

“Okay.” Gabriel liked that Crowley used the same words he had used when talking to the recorder.  _ Touch. Penis. Pleasure. _

They were nice words. Not like the ones Aziraphale had taught him, thinks he had said back in the bookshop.  _ Fuck. Cock. Whore.  _

“Can...can we try now?” 

“Of course, archangel.”

Crowley led him into the bedroom, Crowley’s bedroom, where Gabriel noticed the bed had been made, perhaps for the first time since they moved in. Crowley usually left it a tousled pile of blankets he could nestle into, and rarely saw fit to do things like “tidy.” 

Crowley snapped his fingers, and soon a candle was flickering on the table. 

“I’m going to take my shirt off, but keep my pants on, okay?”

Gabriel nodded.

“You can wear whatever you like. Or not wear, as the case may be.”

Gabriel swallowed. He had grown quite used to being naked, especially around Crowley. But making choices like that, deciding what to wear - that was a bit harder.

He thought about it for a second, standing in the doorway as Crowley made a show of pulling his shirt off and lying down on the bed. If he was going to have an orgasm, he knew there would be semen, and he definitely didn’t want any of that on his sweater. Plus, if he took off all of his clothes, Crowley could touch him everywhere.

So Gabriel got naked, folding his pants and sweater neatly and setting them carefully on the floor, before joining Crowley on the bed.

“Do whatever you like, archangel,” Crowley said, turning on his side and reaching out toward Gabriel. He ran one finger over Gabriel’s arm, tracing up his bicep and over his shoulder. Gabriel smiled, welcoming the touch. It was exactly what he’d imagined, exactly what he’d asked for. 

Crowley had said he ought to touch himself, too, so he did. The motion was comfortingly familiar, and soon Gabriel felt his eyes flutter closed, sinking into the sensation as he stroked his own effort while Crowley ran his hands over Gabriel’s exposed skin. 

It was nice, it was very nice, but Gabriel realized he was missing something. Well, not missing, exactly. Just...wanting. 

Crowley was lying next to him, warm and present and attentive, but he was quiet. Gabriel wanted Crowley to talk to him, to murmur and whisper like he had in those times before.

Gabriel opened his mouth to ask Crowley, but the words caught in his throat. He felt small, vulnerable, and his self preservation instincts kicked in, telling him to keep his mouth shut. Asking Crowley for even more, after all this, it was too much. Presumptuous. Selfish.

And yet...Crowley had told Gabriel to be open about his desires, to be honest, to share himself. Would it be unfair, disobedient even, to keep this unsaid? Would Crowley be angry later, if he found out Gabriel had refused to tell him something?

Gabriel stopped touching himself, distracted by the thoughts swirling in his head. Usually when he felt like this, he went to his recorder, talked some of it out. But he didn’t have the recorder. He realized that Crowley hadn’t given it back after their conversation. Where was the recorder? Gabriel didn’t like not knowing where it was. 

“I - I need,” Gabriel said, sitting up and looking around the room. “I want my recorder.”

Crowley tilted his head, concerned. “You don’t need that, Gabe,” he said, “I’m right here. You can talk to me, I’m listening.”

Gabriel shook his head, standing up from the bed and searching the night table.

“It’s alright, Gabriel, you’re alright.” Crowley rolled over and pulled the recorder out from a nearby drawer. “Here you go, archangel, but really, you can say anything, just talk to me, please -”

“Thank you,” Gabriel breathed, taking the recorder from Crowley. It felt comforting, his fingers wrapped around the familiar shape. “I...I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“Gabriel, please.” Crowley looked so sad, sitting on the bed, shirtless, patting the spot where Gabriel had just been lying. “We don’t have to do anything more, but if you want to talk, please just stay, you don’t need that.”

No, perhaps he didn’t need it. Just like he didn’t need his fancy suits, or his voice, or…

But he wanted it. Was that allowed, to want things? Crowley kept saying it was, but now, he seemed upset. Gabriel clutched the recorder to his chest, a war raging in his mind. 

“Why don’t we do this,” Crowley said, his tone calm, placating. “You say whatever it is you want to say, right into that, but you can do it in here. I’m right here. I’m listening. I won’t say anything. I promise.”

A large part of Gabriel still felt like bolting out the door, taking his recorder somewhere he could be alone, but Crowley wanted him to stay, and part of him wanted to stay, too.

He took a hesitant step again toward the bed, and Crowley smiled. 

“Here,” Crowley said, snapping his fingers and holding out a pair of soft sweatpants and one of Gabriel’s favorite sweaters. “We can be done, it’s okay, just talk to me.”

Gabriel nodded, pulling on the pants before climbing back onto the bed. He stayed shirtless, just like Crowley.

“There you go.” Crowley scooted over to make room for Gabriel to get comfortable. Gabriel curled up on his side, facing away from Crowley, the recorder held up by his face. He could feel Crowley’s presence behind him, how the demon managed to be attentive while giving Gabriel his space.

But Gabriel wasn’t so sure he wanted that much space. He wiggled backwards on the bed, bringing his bare back closer to Crowley, and he felt the light touch of fingertips graze his shoulders.

“Is this okay?” Crowley asked, his voice feather-soft.

“Mmhmm.”

Crowley traced gentle swirls over Gabriel’s skin, and soon the archangel pressed the little triangle button that meant “record,” and looking down into the nonjudgmental screen, sandwiched between the device that always listened to him and the sweet, patient demon that gave him time enough to be heard, he started to talk. 

***

Crowley held his breath, not wanting to make any sound that might feel to Gabriel like an interruption.

  
“I…” Gabriel began, and over the archangel’s shoulder Crowley could see how hard he was gripping the iPod, the tips of his knuckles going white as they wrapped around the metal. “I like it when Crowley talks to me. I always did. Well, no. I guess not. I guess, before...I wouldn’t have listened to a demon. But...when it was all happening, I liked hearing him.”

Crowley forced himself to continue moving his hand, knowing that any sudden change might startle Gabriel into silence. Every other fiber of his being, though, save for the few dedicated to making sure he didn’t stop rubbing circles over Gabriel’s shoulderblades, was fully devoted to listening to what the archangel was saying. 

“He was always so kind to me. Not just in what he said, but how he said it. He didn’t shout or snap at me. Even when things were really bad, even when we - even when he had to - he told me it was okay. He told me I was okay, that things were going to be alright. It was the first time anyone had ever talked to me like that. Even in Heaven, the other angels always figured I was so powerful, so confident, I didn’t need any reassurance.

“There were days that his voice got me through it all. I could close my eyes and hear him talking. I’d remember things he’d said to me before, play the memories over and over in my mind. It was almost like I had a tape recorder, an invisible one, full of the nice things Crowley said to me. After a while, the only time I saw him was when awful things were happening, but he still managed to speak comfort into those terrible moments.

“When I thought about how much I liked him touching me, I didn’t realize how much I liked hearing him as well as feeling him. That closeness always came with more words, words of praise and comfort and assurance, everything I needed to hear, even if what I was feeling was...terrible.”

Crowley closed his eyes, feeling his throat constrict as he listened. He had never realized how important his words were to Gabriel back then. If he had, he would certainly had thought more carefully about them. Most of the time, it was just meaningless patter meant to soothe himself as much as Gabriel. It was selfish, even, his own attempts to convince himself that things were okay, his own denial of how much Gabriel was truly suffering.

But apparently it had meant the world to Gabriel, those _you’re okay_ s and _there you go_ s uttered as Crowley tried to distract himself from the horrors unfolding before him, often from his own hands. 

“That’s what I want,” Gabriel said into the recorder. “What I want when I touch myself, what I’ve been missing, what I was talking about last time. I don’t know if Crowley is okay with it, if he even wants to talk to me like that, but it’s something I like.”

“Oh, archangel.” Crowley couldn’t stay silent anymore. “Gabriel.”

Gabriel set the iPod down and turned over, letting Crowley pull him close, wrapping his arms around the demon.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Crowley whispered, brushing his lips over Gabriel’s ear. “Of course I’ll talk to you, of course, I’ll say anything you want.”

Gabriel made a high pitched whimper at that, relief and tension and desire and fear all in one.

“You’re so good, archangel, thank you for telling me, thank you, thank you.” Crowley’s hands roamed everywhere, and Gabriel melted into the touch, pressing his bare chest against Crowley’s. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here, I’ll talk to you forever, Gabriel, anything you like, you’re so lovely, so brave, there you are.”

Crowley felt Gabriel’s back curl, his hips squirming, as his body sought more. Carefully, Crowley took one of Gabriel’s hands in his and guided it down, letting the archangel know he could return to touching himself if he wanted.

Gabriel took the invitation, one hand inside his sweatpants, his breathing growing quick and shallow. Crowley continued to murmur, his nose pressed up against Gabriel’s hair, pouring sweetness right into the archangel’s ear. “Good, that’s good, you’re doing so good, you deserve to feel good, there you go.”

They shifted, bodies rolling together like vines around a trellis, until Crowley was on top of Gabriel, hands and knees on either side of the archangel’s body like a ribcage, like protective gates, like a fortress. Gabriel looked up at him, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed, a too-rare smile on his face. “You’re lovely, Gabriel, I love to watch you, love when you feel good, I love touching you, you feel so good. That’s good, archangel, there you go.”

Gabriel was close to coming, Crowley could tell, his eyelids fluttering and his head pressing back against the pillows. Then concern flashed through those violet eyes, some sudden worry. Gabriel stopped masturbating and pulled his hand out of his waistband. 

“It - the stuff, it - your bed,” the archangel said, not meeting Crowley’s eyes, staring somewhere in the vicinity of the demon’s chin.

“It’s okay, really, it’s fine.” Crowley brushed a hand over Gabriel’s forehead, down his cheek. He wanted to lean down and kiss the archangel, but they hadn’t really discussed that, and after all, he’d have to stop talking if he started kissing Gabriel, and that was simply not an option, now that he knew how much Gabriel liked it, how hard the archangel had worked to ask him for it.

“Really, archangel, that’s part of the fun of it all. Getting a little messy, and all that.”

This did not seem to reassure Gabriel, who pressed his lips together, looking very uncomfortable. Crowley scrambled to switch tactics. 

“Or - you know what, if it’s not your thing, we can do away with it altogether. Is that okay? I’ll take care of it. Quick demonic miracle. No problem at all.”

Gabriel nodded, finally looking up and letting Crowley see his eyes. Crowley rested one hand on Gabriel’s stomach, a purposeful gesture, a promise. 

“I don’t mind, really I don’t, but if it bothers you, that’s fine. I’ve got you, archangel, go ahead, there you go.”

Timidly at first, then resuming his initial rhythm, Gabriel took himself back in hand, and soon he was climbing that peak again. Crowley drank in the vision of Gabriel lost in ecstasy, with no fear or shame tainting it, no twinges of pain, no domineering angel standing by to make the whole thing into a cruel farce.

Crowley waited until the moment of climax, the effortlessly disappeared the mess. Gabriel looked down at his clean stomach, then up at a grinning Crowley, his own face breaking into a smile bigger than Crowley had seen on Gabriel in a long time.

“That was great, archangel,” Crowley said, flopping onto his back. “You’re very good at that.”

A glance to the side revealed that Gabriel was still smiling, and there was a spark of pride in his eyes. 

Their hands found each other, fingers intertwining as both caught their breath.

“You’re so good, Gabriel. Really.”

Gabriel started fumbling around near his side of the bed, and Crowley felt a pang of sadness, thinking that this had all been just as much as the archangel could take, and that Gabriel wanted to put his sweater on and go out by himself for a while to unwind. He’d never begrudge the archangel whatever it took him to feel okay - and Crowley had certainly gotten more honesty, and intimacy, from Gabriel than he ever expected to, today - but, still, if he had his way, they’d stay longer in bed together, holding each other, maybe even chatting.

But Gabriel didn’t leave the bed. Instead, he just grabbed something before laying back down beside Crowley. This time, he had the iPod in his hand, thumb poised to press the button, and held it up near Crowley’s face.

“Can...can you say that into this?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel gets a puppy.

Crowley knew about the shepherd’s festival after seeing posters up in town, but he wasn’t sure if Gabriel would be interested. He’d been considering mentioning it and seeing how Gabriel reacted, but it seemed Abigael had gotten to it before him. 

“Crowley! Crowley!” Gabriel bounded through the door, a brightly colored flyer clutched in one hand. “Look what Abigael invited me to!”

Crowley looked up from the television show he was watching on a tablet in his lap. “Did you get the yarn you were looking for?” 

“No, because look!” Gabriel thrust the flyer, which had gotten a bit damp and crumpled on its journey home, into Crowley’s hand. “A Shepherd’s Faire! Abigael says there’ll be tons of farmers there, from all over, with yarn I’ve never seen. Can we go?”

“Of course, archangel.” Crowley scanned the details on the flyer, noting the date. “Wanna finish watching with me?”

A few days later, Crowley was bundled up in as many layers as he could drape over his lanky body in preparation for an entire afternoon spent outside. Gabriel, who seemed energized by the chilly Icelandic air, had selected the sweater he was most proud of, put on his running shoes, and was nearly beside himself with anticipation. 

As they walked down the pathway into town, Crowley could hear live music and smell the wafting scents of chocolate drinks and fried sweet dough coming up from the outdoor festival. He couldn’t help but smile at Gabriel’s almost childlike excitement when they reached the main area, booths and tables overflowing with yarn and staffed by ruddy-cheeked farmers ready and willing to talk weft and warp for as long as Gabriel desired.

Crowley had thrown a canvas bag over one shoulder as they left the house, expecting Gabriel to end up with piles and piles of yarn to bring home. His plan was to tuck them inside the bag so he could discreetly miracle its contents back to their cabin when it got too full, without drawing too much attention from the humans milling about.

But despite the fact that Gabriel seemed to be enjoying himself, spending a long time at every booth, chatting with the farmers and running his hands over every skein of yarn, he wasn’t actually purchasing any. Crowley watched him hold a heavy ball of gold colored yarn flecked with bright white, then slowly set it down with a longing look.

“Do you want that one, Gabriel?” Crowley asked, sidling up beside the archangel.

“I don’t need it,” Gabriel said, picking up another ball, this time silver and black. Crowley could hear the shame in his voice, the learned resistance to any of his own desires. 

He used to love his suits, and then Aziraphale acted like enjoying such pleasures was a sin grave enough to warrant brutal punishment. Gabriel was afraid, afraid of his own interest in the yarn, afraid of his own pleasure, afraid to let himself enjoy something lest it be ripped from him. 

Crowley felt angry. Angry at the hypocritical cruelty Aziraphale had doled out. Angry at the notion that Gabriel’s glee this morning had been overwhelmed by fear and shame once he was actually confronted with the opportunity to indulge.

He did his best to channel his anger into playfulness, cheeriness, as if by aggressively refusing to acknowledge the painful reality of Gabriel’s reluctance, he might be able to force it back, deny it, wrestle it away.

“Well what on earth has that got to do with anything? Get what you like, anything you want.”

“Uh huh.” Gabriel wandered to the other side of the table, lifting up a pair of oversized knitting needles hand carved from dark wood.

“You like those? Get those. Come on.” Crowley called the woman who was tending the booth over and pulled out his wallet. “How much for those big needles?”

“No, I already have -” Gabriel protested, but Crowley wouldn’t hear it. 

“Not that size, you don’t. Look, they’re lovely.”

“He’ll also be having five skeins of yarn, please,” Crowley told the woman, pressing a handful of krona into her hand. 

Gabriel looked embarrassed, his cheeks turning pink as Crowley held out his tote bag, inviting Gabriel to put his purchases inside. “Do we have enough space, at home? I’ll keep them in my room, put everything away, it’ll be tidy -”

Crowley laughed, shaking the bag at Gabriel to encourage him to fill it up. “You think I mind that? Cover the whole floor in yarn, it’ll be cozy. We’ll get you some shelves, cabinets, we’ll send the extras to outer space. Get some yarn, Gabriel.”

It was perhaps an unfair trick, leveraging Gabriel’s inability to refuse a direct command, but Crowley would not let this day be taken from them. He would do whatever it took.

Gingerly, Gabriel lifted the gold and white yarn, settling it into Crowley’s bag.

“Lovely. Love that one, it’s perfect. Great choice. Now I’ve paid the young miss for four more, so let’s pick those out.”

By the time they made it to the end of the row of booths, Gabriel was grinning again, revelling in his purchases, and Crowley felt quite proud of himself.

_ Take that, universe. Take that, Aziraphale. Fuck you. Score one for me, score one for Gabriel. We’re going to have fun, we’re going to find joy, and there’s nothing you can do about it. _

_ Not anymore. _

Crowley had expected to spend the next hour, at least, watching Gabriel select his favorite yarns and patterns from the endless rows of shepherd's booths. But as they rounded the corner, something else caught the archangel’s eye. 

Instead of a table underneath a tent, there was an open area surrounded by a low fence, some light metal contraption meant to be folded up and moved anywhere. Inside the fence were a bunch of dogs. 

“Come see the puppies!” One of the humans standing nearby waved them over, and Gabriel obeyed, Crowley following close behind him.

A sign said ICELANDIC SHEEPDOG ASSOCIATION, and the dogs inside the fence reminded Crowley of the way dogs had looked when they first started hanging around with humans. They had brown and white coats, pointed ears, and warm, intelligent brown eyes.

“Want to hold one?” 

Crowley declined, his arms full of Gabriel’s purchases, but Gabriel held his hands out and the human handed him a wriggling puppy, who instantly started licking at the archangel’s chin.

Gabriel giggled. Crowley had never heard that sound before, and he adored it.

“We’re here finding homes for them,” the human explained, tucking a brochure into one of Crowley’s already overflowing bags. “The shelters are full, and too many litters are being born this spring to mothers who aren’t certified, meaning they aren’t eligible to be show dogs, which makes them hard to place.”

Gabriel was still figuring out how to hold the dog, who was squirming and kicking, both of Gabriel’s hands wrapped around its round belly. The human showed him how to support the puppy’s bottom and legs, and soon Gabriel was cuddling a much more relaxed creature against his chest.

“Her name’s Rivka. She’s adoptable, if you’re interested.”

It was inevitable. Crowley couldn’t say no to Gabriel, who was giving him just as much of a puppydog expression as the actual puppy itself. 

They went home that day with thousands of krona worth of yarn, several business cards from shepherds inviting Gabriel to visit them at their farms, and one Icelandic sheepdog puppy named Rivka. 

***

Gabriel had thought he’d spend the rest of the day paging through his new books of knitting patterns and trying things out with his new yarn. 

That was, of course, until he met Rivka.

All his plans for the wool were forgotten, including his promises to Crowley that he’d put everything away very tidily. Their purchases of the day were in a heap by the front door, all but abandoned, in favor of the little ball of grey and brown fur.

“Have you ever had a pet before?” Crowley asked, still standing by the front door as he unwound his pile of scarves, hats, and coats.

“No,” Gabriel replied. Oh, her ears were so, so soft. Softer than the softest wool he’d ever touched. How were they so soft?

“The thing about puppies is that you’ve got to train them,” Crowley was saying. Gabriel was only half listening. “She’ll need a leash, and a collar, and food, and somewhere to sleep.”

“She can sleep with me,” Gabriel said.

“She needs her own spot, though. Like a crate, or a bed.”

“Uh huh.” Gabriel was sitting cross legged on the floor, letting Rivka run circles around him.

“Probably not stuff that ought to come from a demonic miracle,” Crowley mused, watching them play. “Figure I’ll go into town, pick up some things for her.”

Gabriel squealed with delight as Rivka jumped up onto him, falling onto his back so she could stand on his chest. 

“You know what, I’m just going to leave you two here for a bit. I’ll get puppy stuff, then we can get her all set up, alright? Stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”

Gabriel was surprised to realize that he had fallen asleep. He didn’t often fall asleep by accident - it took some effort to calm his mind and body, usually with the help of Crowley stroking his hair and, ever since he’d shared his desires, talking gently to him. 

But here he was, in his favorite spot by the fire, lifting his head to discover he’d taken a little nap, having drifted off while petting Rivka. 

Then, he saw what the puppy had gotten up to while he was out. She had Crowley’s sunglasses pinned between her still too large paws, and was gnawing on them, shattering them into bits of glass and twisted metal.

“Rivka, no!” Gabriel grabbed the dog, immediately poking his fingers into her mouth, trying to make sure she hadn’t hurt herself on the glasses.

She seemed fine, licking Gabriel’s hand and wagging her tail, so he let her go and turned his attention to the mangled glasses on the carpet.

“Oh, no, no, Rivka...” Gabriel picked them up, his heart pounding as he took in the extent of the damage. “You can’t break other people’s things, Rivka, they’ll get angry, it’s not nice.”

Gabriel remembered the way he’d done the same thing, ages ago, in what felt like another lifetime. Took away things that were precious to other angels as punishment, holding their prized weapons or favorite uniforms over their head to ensure compliance, to remind them of his power.

Had he somehow influenced Rivka? Was she spending too much time with him, absorbing the cruelty and nastiness that had lived inside him for so long, had been enough to provoke another angel to disabuse him of it as soon as their power could rival his?

Would Rivka then suffer like he did?

Rivka was just wagging her tail and jumping around like she wanted to play. Gabriel looked around, wondering where Crowley was, then remembered that he’d gone into town for puppy things. He’d certainly not be happy to find that the dog he was out running errands for, that he’d brought into his home, had taken it upon herself to destroy his glasses.

“Okay, okay,” Gabriel muttered, half to the dog, half to himself. “I can fix this.”

He held the glasses in his hand, taking a deep breath. It wasn’t often that Gabriel tried to use his miracles. Flexing his power made him feel nervous, but this was important. He closed his eyes, focusing. The glasses had a slight demonic aura, one he knew would resist his angelic miracles, but he had to try.

When he opened his eyes, Gabriel was horrified to see what he had done. The glass had reformed, but the shape of the glasses had not returned to normal. They were warped, the lenses facing in different directions, the metal arms misshapen.

“Oh no, no, no,” Gabriel whispered. He’d only managed to make things worse, and probably harder for Crowley to fix it. Rivka was looking up at him with those sweet brown eyes, and Gabriel knew what he had to do.

He scooped up the puppy, who squirmed and pawed at his arm, then carried her into his room. He set her down on the bed, surrounding her with pillows, then dumped a handful of treats on the blanket.

“You just stay here,” he said, patting her on the head. “I’ll come get you when it’s safe, okay?”

Rivka wasn’t listening. She pounced on one of the treats and set to work gnawing at the little bone shaped biscuit. 

Gabriel shut the bedroom door behind him as he returned to the living room to wait.

***

Crowley was already down in town when he realized he’d forgotten his sunglasses in all the fuss. There were too many humans around for a miraculous summoning to be worth the effort, so instead he just tugged his knit cap down low and set a slight aura about himself, discouraging curious humans from looking too closely.

At the pet store, Crowley grabbed everything he knew a puppy needed, plus plenty of extra treats and toys. Gabriel was going to love spoiling Rivka, and Crowley couldn’t exactly deny him that. He also picked up a book on something called gentle dog training. It worried Crowley, how naive Gabriel was, how little he still understood about earth. This was the first big new thing he had tried since he’d taken up knitting, and Crowley was more than a bit nervous. 

Still, knitting had worked out well enough, and Gabriel was so delighted with Rivka already. Perhaps the unconditional love of a dog and the distraction of puppy training would be healing for the archangel. Crowley told himself he was worrying for nothing, though he still paid for the book and resolved to begin reading it as soon as he returned.

The fire was still going when he got home, which told Crowley he hadn’t been out for very long. Gabriel remained too frightened of fire to get near it, though he did enjoy splitting wood for it out in the backyard.

“Hey, archangel,” Crowley called. “I’m back!” He dropped a heavy bag of kibble inside the front door, 

“I ruined your glasses,” Gabriel replied, standing up and holding out a pair of Crowley’s sunglasses.

“Hm?” Crowley, blinking in the cabin’s low light after so much time outside without his sunglasses, squinted at Gabriel.

“I was practicing my miracles.” Gabriel sounded oddly breathless as he spoke, like he’d been out for a run. “And I ruined them.”

Crowley walked over and took them from Gabriel’s hand, turning them over. They looked like something out of an Escher drawing, a familiar shape somehow gone in all the wrong direction.

“I used my archangelic power, so you probably can’t fix them, they’re broken forever, and -”

Something else occurred to Crowley as he slowly returned to consciousness. “Where’s the puppy?”

“I broke your glasses,” Gabriel just continued, “I did it, it was my fault.”

Crowley would definitely attend to whatever Gabriel was talking about, but he didn’t like not knowing where the small, mischievous puppy might be at any given moment. He whistled for her, calling out her name. He heard her high pitched bark from behind Gabriel’s closed bedroom door, and made his way there. 

“NO!” Gabriel’s shout made Crowley stop, turning back toward the archangel. “No, I mean, I ruined your glasses, and I did it on purpose, I hate them, and I wanted to make you angry.”

“...Right.” Crowley took in Gabriel’s posture, a tense, trembling combination of offensive and defensive. His hands were curled into tight fists, but held straight down at his sides, and though his chin and jaw were set defiantly, his shoulders were hunched forward.

“I don’t like them,” Gabriel continued, “I broke them, so you wouldn’t have them anymore. I did it to make you mad.”

Crowley had no clue what was going on, but he’d found that when Gabriel was this agitated, it was best to remain as neutral as possible without disengaging. “Alright, archangel, so what you’re telling me is, while I was having a nap, it occurred to you that you don’t like my sunglasses, so your solution was to twist them around a little bit, then wait for me to come home so you could tell me about it?”

Gabriel’s hesitant pause made his eventual “Yes” very unconvincing.

“Uh huh.” Crowley was casting about in his mind for something sensible to say when he heard Rivka’s high pitched whine from the other side of Gabriel’s bedroom door, and went again to open it, this time making it as far as his hand on the doorknob before Gabriel’s anguished cry stopped him.

“No, please!” Gabriel collapsed to his knees, hands held out pleadingly. “No, she didn’t mean to, she didn’t know, it’s my fault, I let her, please!”

“Oh.” Realization washed over Crowley, cold and jarring and painful. He lifted his hand from the doorknob and stepped slowly back toward Gabriel, crouching down so that he was at eye level with the kneeling archangel. “Gabriel,” he said, as softly as he could, “are you worried I’m going to punish Rivka?”

Gabriel just looked up at him, violet eyes swimming with tears, then covered his face with his hands, dissolving into sobs. Crowley pulled the archangel to him, wrapping his arms around Gabriel, snapping his fingers and opening to bedroom door so Rivka could join them.

Eventually, Crowley managed to get everyone situated on the sofa, a plush recliner that let Crowley lay back with Gabriel nestled up against him, Rivka curled up on his lap, the whole mess covered by a grey and ivory afghan Gabriel had knitted.

Gabriel’s eyes were closed, his head pressed into Crowley’s chest and nuzzled under the blanket as he cried himself out. Crowley took the opportunity to set everything back to rights, as much as he had it in his power to do so.

The glasses, Crowley knew, were a lost cause - the miracle Gabriel had used was not only angelic, it had been warped by his anxiety, and would be nearly impossible for Crowley to reverse. Fortunately, it didn’t matter. Crowley had plenty of duplicate pairs. Silently, he waved his hand and dismissed the broken set into nothingness, conjuring a new pair from his bedside table and twirling them within his fingers, holding them up to show Gabriel when the archangel finally sniffled and lifted his head. 

“There. Good as new. And even if they weren’t, it would be alright. I’d never hurt Rivka, or you, or anyone else, over something like that. You don’t have to worry about that, or try and protect her from me, okay?”

Gabriel stared at the "repaired" glasses, a tired relief in his eyes. 

“You used to do that,” Crowley mused, his fingers combing through Gabriel’s hair. “Distract him, provoke him. Away from me.”

“You did too,” Gabriel murmured.

“Yeah. Yeah, we both learned...that.” Crowley sighed. He didn’t exactly enjoy talking about their time with Aziraphale, what they’d done to survive. But some things needed to be spoken, even if they hurt. “But you don’t need to do that anymore. Neither of us does. No one here is going to try and punish anyone. It’s safe. We’re safe.”

Gabriel was still, almost motionless, under Crowley’s touch.

“Imagine if you knitted a sweater, a gorgeous one, one that took you weeks and weeks to finish, and you were so proud of it. And then Rivka chewed it up, unraveled it, destroyed all your work. Would you hit her? Burn her? Pinch her little ears until she yelped?”

Horrified, Gabriel lifted his head. “No!”

“Right, of course not. And do you think I would?”

“No,” Gabriel said, sounding guilty.

“Exactly. She’s just a little puppy, and we love her. She doesn’t deserve to be punished, even if she makes a mistake. She’s safe with us, right?”

Gabriel nodded.

“It’s the same with me and you,” Crowley continued, hoping the metaphor would stick. “You know that, right? I’m never going to hurt you.”

It was all Crowley could do to keep from finishing his sentence with  _...again _ .

Gabriel was quiet for a moment, taking those preparatory breaths that meant he was gearing up to say something difficult. Crowley waited, giving him as much time as he neede.

“He said I was bad.”

“You’re not, archangel.”

“It hurt. Sometimes I think it hurt more than...other things he did.”

“I know,” was all Crowley could say.

“I...I didn’t mean to say you were bad,” Gabriel whispered, his face half buried in Crowley’s chest. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not exactly innocent,” Crowley said, wincing. He couldn’t shy away from the truth of their history together; the fact that Gabriel had perfectly valid reasons not to trust him.

“I hurt people too,” Gabriel mumbled. “Hurt Aziraphale, and...and you, when you were him…”

“We’ve all done bad things,” Crowley said, speaking slowly as he scrambled for his next words. A large part of him just wanted to drop the subject and go back to sleep. How on earth had he, a demon, ended up in this position, trying to explain to an archangel that a person’s past sins didn’t mean they deserved to be tormented, punished, their whole self obliterated and replaced with misery and hatred?

He wasn’t even sure he believed what he was trying to say. After all, wasn’t his very existence proof that some things were unforgivable? 

“But I guess that means, since we’ve all messed up, none of us gets to pass judgment on anyone else. No one has the right to punish you, or hurt you, ‘cause if they do, then they’ve forfeited whatever moral authority they thought they had claim to in the first place.”

Gabriel made a strained little noise, and Crowley could tell this was perhaps too heavy a topic for now. Grateful for the excuse to let the conversation rest, Crowley just redoubled his efforts to calm Gabriel with soft touches. “Anyway, archangel, just know, you’re safe, alright? You’re safe, and Rivka is safe. It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> _Oh, and the night falls now with  
>  Somnolent mouth on the ether garden  
> And the gardener stands with blood on his hands  
> Beside the stone_
> 
> _And that's when I finally heard those voices  
>  Singing 'oh'_
> 
> _Oh, and Lucifer abides in her in the ether garden  
>  And Ahriman, the sweet cheat gone, the cuts, cold diamond_
> 
> _That's when I finally heard those voices_  
>  Singing 'oh'


End file.
